


A Second Form of Grief

by Casandravus



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst With A Slightly Happy Ending, Gen, Introspective Angst, Post-Episode: s02e24 Moonvasion!, no betas we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:06:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24705043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casandravus/pseuds/Casandravus
Summary: Sometimes, family reunions are more bitter than sweet.
Relationships: Donald Duck & Scrooge McDuck
Comments: 12
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, as a parent with a lot of regrets myself, I can't imagine Della's return *not* having an impact on Donald's relationship with the boys. This started as a challenge to not use so much dialogue in my writing, but I really like how it turned out.

Donald knew being jealous of Della was complete nonsense, but it was still how he felt and he really didn’t have anyone who would understand. For some reason, he just hadn’t expected to lose his role as their father in such a short period of time.

It was almost a second form of grief. 

_That_ realization made his heart race. Thunder and harsh rains sure didn’t help his sleep any, but it was the weight of that epiphany that stirred his mind to anxiety. He’d held on to fatherhood as an anchor for so long that he didn’t know how to be anything else. Transitions were never easy - he’d gone from college to the Navy to home inside of four years - but this was… Different. 

Just as they had in his childhood, the gardens around McDuck Manor centered him and gave him room to breathe. He found his favorite bench - one located at the far end of the property, away from the manor - and sat on it. Feelings of inadequacy stood heavy on his shoulders, and he buried his head in his hands. Fighting the pressure in his chest would do no good, so he leaned into it, clutching his hair and grinding his teeth. 

After a while, the tears came. He stayed silent - Scrooge had an uncanny sense of hearing, even from such distance and in such bad weather - but let his body shake. 

What good had keeping the boys away done them? They’d witnessed him saving _pennies_ from the couch cushions just to have food for the week. They’d seen him gain and lose  _ so many  _ jobs. They’d worried about him not eating; no matter how well he hid it, they noticed him skipping meals. They'd always offer him the last bit of food on their plates. They’d heard him have panic attacks when he thought they were asleep. All he’d shown them was poverty and suffering, and for  _ what _ ? A dead mother who, uh-oh, wasn’t actually dead!

Ten years of anger at his beloved uncle, for  _ nothing _ . Yes, Scrooge had built the Spear, but he didn’t put her on it! She sneaked out and found it all by herself, and like the  _ idiot _ she was, she went on her next adventure without thinking about what she left behind. All this time, they could have lived in the mansion and had  _ comfort _ . 

He’d failed the boys. Absolutely  _ failed _ them in every conceivable way. No wonder they’d been staying away. They probably hated him for how much he’d denied them because of his selfishness. Donald sobbed openly now, too lost in his shame to notice the presence beside him until an arm wrapped around his shoulders. 

Scrooge said nothing, did nothing, other than give an occasional squeeze to ground his nephew. He’d always been a man who knew when to speak and when to hold his peace, and now was time for the latter. 

Eventually, the world turned back to its normal colors and Donald could breathe again. “...Uncle Scrooge?” surprise laced his voice. “What’re you doing out here in this weather?”

“Call it uncle’s intuition, lad. Something nudged me to check the gardens and here you were. Would you like to come to the mansion?” 

Donald nodded, but standing proved to be more challenging than he’d expected. Scrooge caught his weight and helped him back, humming softly a Gaelic walking song. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scrooge and Donald have a chat.

_ “This is all your fault!” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “Donald, please - I - ” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “You promised Mama you’d take care of us! You  _ **_promised_ ** _. Now look what’s happened!” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “Donald!”  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ His hands gripped the pram handlebar, tears running down his face. “You lied to me.” Then came the fire, and -  _ _  
_ _  
_ “ **Donald** !” Scrooge sat up, heart racing.    
  
He hadn’t had  _ that _ nightmare since the day the boys had been dropped off at the mansion. Thunder crashed, startling him more… Perhaps it was a sign. Scrooge quickly grabbed his spats and coat then headed to the houseboat.    
  
No sign of anyone.    
  
Scrooge found him at the far end of the gardens, crumpled into himself on a well-worn bench. After a few minutes, Donald’s quiet whimpers turned to loud, heart-wrenching sobs. Scrooge wrapped an arm around his shoulders, occasionally giving a squeeze when he thought Donald was spiraling too far down.    
  
Della coming back had rocked the house, in more ways than one. The boys had a mother for the first time in their lives; Scrooge had his niece - who he’d raised as his daughter - back from what he thought was the grave; Donald had his sister back, but… Did that mean he’d have to sign custody over?    
  
Scrooge shook his head at the idea.    
  
Della hadn’t been home long enough to warrant such a drastic transition. He hated to admit it, but she was  _ terrible _ at parenting. She was either extremely lax, or extremely strict - she didn’t have a middle ground or a way of handling things that made much sense. His mind shifted back to his oldest nephew. The boys hadn’t visited the houseboat often since their mother’s return; he knew that was probably hurting Donald. Maybe… Maybe Donald felt like he’d  _ failed  _ in fatherhood somehow.    
  
Scrooge’s heart plummeted to his feet. If that was true - and looking at him now, muttering about poverty and the boys, it probably was - Scrooge had failed him. It was his own grief and his own pride that stopped him from reaching out even though he could have. Whether his efforts would’ve been received or not didn’t matter; he hadn’t even  _ tried _ . Scrooge scooted closer to Donald and squeezed his shoulder again.    
  
Eventually Donald’s breathing quieted and his eyes opened. “...Uncle Scrooge? What’re you doing out here in this weather?”   
  
“Call it uncle’s intuition, lad. Something nudged me to check the gardens and here you were. Would you like to come to the mansion?”

Donald nodded, but fell as he tried to stand. Scrooge caught his weight, and started humming softly a Gaelic walking song. It felt like ages before the pair were inside the mansion, the older drying the younger off with a freshly warmed towel.    
  
Once they were both dry and had hot chocolate in their hands, they found themselves in Scrooge’s second sitting room. Only rain broke the otherwise easy silence between them. After a while, Scrooge sighed.    
  
“What is it, Uncle Scrooge?”   
  
“You’ve been bearing all that heartache alone, and it’s my fault,” the older duck looked at his nephew. “There are so many things I should’ve said, should’ve done, and I did  _ nothing _ . I buried my pain in my work, and I left you alone in yours.”   
  
Donald shook his head. “I’m not much better, am I? I just ignored it. The boys came only a couple days after I left. I worked and raised them; that was the whole of my life. There were  _ so many  _ days when I wanted to call you and ask for help. Not just with money - though we could’ve used it - but with  _ everything else _ . Like how to get picky kids to eat, or how to not feel like I was playing favorites, or… What you would do. What  _ did _ you do? You know? But no, I was stupid and selfish! Now that the boys know what it’s like to have food security and financial security, they’ll know I failed them!”   
  
Scrooge pulled Donald to him. “Ye did not fail. Ye  _ did not _ fail. You’re an excellent father; the boys have known hardship, but they also know how to get through it. Their intelligence, their courage, their kindness? Some of that might be their Clan McDuck heritage, lad, but they learned the bulk of it  _ from you _ . I’m proud of you. I’m proud to call you my son.”   
  
Donald buried his head into Scrooge’s shoulder, quiet sobs shaking his frame. "I'm proud to call you my father."   
  
As they held onto each other, the grief between them lifted. Where hurt was buried, forgiveness bloomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took forever to write because it mirrors so many of my own struggles as a mother. It's really hard to lay yourself bare like this and admit your own failings.


End file.
